


hear it from your mouth

by fwop



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftercare, Angry Shiro (Voltron), Coming Untouched, Explicit Sexual Content, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Light BDSM, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23023240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fwop/pseuds/fwop
Summary: “And just how are you gonna make me?” Lance asks, testing his limits. He's so hurt by the distrust, of Shiro putting Keith first, of doubting him that he doesn’t care about Shiro’s approval at the moment. He’s so tired of being the afterthought!Shiro is silent.“What are you gonna do, Shiro?” Lance sneers, “Spank me?”
Relationships: Lance/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 323





	hear it from your mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Cleaning out some stuff I had almost finished before leaving the Voltron fandom. I still love Shance, in all honesty!

“ _Lance!”_

Lance startles, the ferocity in Shiro’s voice wiping the smile off of his face. He tenses because he knows that tone, though it’s never been directed at him by _Shiro._ Regardless, he’s in _big_ trouble.

“What the _fuck_ was that,” Shiro demands, jaw set tightly as he stops in front of them. The cursing startles all of them. Lance has never seen him this mad before, and he swallows convulsively, clutching his helmet like a lifeline. 

Hunk is hesitating in Lance’s peripheral vision, probably weighing the options of moving closer to protect Lance (attracting Shiro’s ire), or staying planted where he is. 

Lance feels vulnerable like this, singled out for everyone to see. He likes attention, but not like _this._

“I…” he starts, unsure, “I had it under--”

“So help me God, if you finish that sentence,” Shiro growls, nostrils flaring. Lance quiets immediately, flushing.

“Shiro--”

“I’m going to my room to calm down. Ten minutes, Lance. If I don't see you in my room in ten minutes, I will find you _myself_.”

The unspoken threat lingers heavy between them and Lance nods, urging himself not to cry in front of everyone like an idiot. Keith gets in trouble with Shiro all the time, and _he_ never cries. It’s just… Lance has never been that good with criticism and from Shiro? It’s ten times worse. 

Shiro shoots him one last angry look before he storms down the hall, leaving everyone quiet around him. Lance’s eyes sweep over towards them, finding them all looking away awkwardly. 

“I've never seen him that angry,” Keith says, staying quiet and shifting his helmet to his hip. “Good luck with that.”

“Shiro’s right though. That was Keith type levels of reckless,” Pidge says, frowning. Keith makes an angry noise in his throat, though he doesn’t deny anything.

“It worked, didn't it?” Lance scoffs, looking away.

“Yeah, but it almost didn't buddy,” Hunk says, and Lance shrugs.

“I'd do it again,” he says petulantly. “Someone else would've gotten hurt if I hadn't.”

“You mean _I_ would've,” Pidge admits, looking upset. “I was too distracted.”

“We're a team. We have each other’s backs,” Lance points out, firm in his belief, though it doesn't change the guilty look on Pidge’s face.

“You better go, Shiro wasn't messing around,” Keith points out and Lance nods. He lingers for just a moment, letting Hunk pat his shoulder comfortingly.

Walking down the hall, he contemplates doing what he did when he was a kid facing his parents' wrath: distraction. Create a new situation for all their attention. He's not quite sure what he could do in the middle of space though.

But he's older now, with a lot more responsibilities and a lot more pride. Facing Shiro might even make Shiro respect him more and it would certainly make him less angry than the alternative, so Lance is determined to do this right.

He arrives at Shiro’s door just in time, knocking at it tentatively. There’s sweat beading up on his brow, and he can feel lines of it slipping underneath his combat suit. 

The door opens and Lance walks in, finding Shiro sitting at the edge of his chair, elbows resting on his knees and face in his hands. 

The door sweeps shut behind Lance, and he fidgets in the uncomfortable silence. Shiro is tense all along his shoulders, and he's still breathing somewhat heavily, but his voice is soft when he speaks.

“What were you thinking?”

Lance grabs his own arm, curling in on himself a little.

“I was thinking about Pidge,” Lance admits and Shiro sits up suddenly.

“Were you? Because from my viewpoint, it looked like you were showing off.”

Lance flinches like he's been slapped. That's not _fair._ That’s not what he'd been doing at all!

“Pidge was in the line of fire, so I did what I had to.” 

“That's not your job.”

“Of course it is!” Lance protests. “We're a team!”

“Not if you get yourself killed,” Shiro snarls and Lance freezes, tears springing to his eyes. Shiro is being so fucking _mean._

“I would do it again,” Lance says lowly because he _would._ Pidge had been overwhelmed. Not that she can’t take care of herself, because she most certainly can, but she’d been outnumbered and outmaneuvered. Lance’s heart had skipped at the thought of her being hurt, and he’d made a split-second decision that, yeah, _maybe_ wasn’t that well-thought-out, but it _worked._ Why is Shiro so mad at him for doing something Shiro himself would’ve done in the same circumstances? 

“No, you won't,” Shiro says, looking up at Lance from his chair with narrowed eyes. “Keith or I will take care of--”

“Keith?!” Lance exclaims, forgetting himself in his anger. “How are he and I any different? How is it he can pull bullshit maneuvers and you slap him on the wrist, but I’m suddenly not capable enough of piloting the Lion that _chose me_ to pilot it?”

“Keith is an experienced pilot--”

“And I'm _not_?” Lance asks, outraged. Of _course,_ Shiro would trust his _favorite_ to fight but not seventh wheel Lance McClain!

“That's not what I said--”

“But it's what you meant,” Lance finishes for him and Shiro clenches his jaw. “I know you think I'm a fuck up, but I'm just as important as anyone else on this team!”

“Lance--”

“And I'll do whatever I want when we're fighting! Cause I can make my own decisions!”

“You won't pull stunts like you did today. You were almost killed.”

“And just how are you gonna make me?” Lance asks, testing his limits. He's so hurt by the distrust, of Shiro putting _Keith_ first, of _doubting_ him that he doesn’t care about Shiro’s approval at the moment. He’s _so_ tired of being the afterthought! 

Shiro is silent.

“What are you gonna do, Shiro?” Lance sneers, “ _Spank me_?”

They’re staring at one another, the air charged with electricity, until Shiro pushes himself up and out of the chair, taking two long strides to grab Lance's arm in a hard grip. Lance tries to yank it back to himself, _hating_ Shiro for treating him like some _kid,_ but Shiro pulls him over, dropping back into the chair and shoving a startled Lance over his legs.

“ _Yes,_ ” Shiro snarls, and then he swats Lance’s backside, _hard._

Lance jolts, one hand pressed against the floor and the other gripping Shiro's shin. He's completely shocked, floundering for understanding as his ass starts to smart. Did Shiro just…?

“What--?”

Another smack has him losing his breath, and he squeezes the leg he’s holding onto, eyes wide and unbelieving. “ _Shiro_ \--!” 

“Since you suggested it,” Shiro says, sounding deadly even through the fog of disbelief Lance is feeling, “you can also _count_ them.”

“Let me go. You can’t be seri--”

A hard smack through his combat suit shuts him up, teeth clicking. 

“ _Count,_ Lance,” Shiro commands and Lance shivers, feeling at once humiliated and out of his depth. There are tears lining his eyelids, bubbling up as he tries to breathe. 

He sucks in a breath as Shiro’s hand descends again, a sharp _thwack_ that hits the backs of his thighs. 

“Th-three,” he says, the tears slipping down his nose and onto the ground below. His face is burning, body fever-warm with embarrassment. It’s not like he’s never been spanked before, but this is… this is _different._ He didn’t think Shiro would actually take the bait seriously!

Another slap, right side. 

“Four!” 

He tries to turn his head to look at Shiro, to get him to stop, but Shiro’s free hand comes down on the back of his neck, holding him firmly in place. A sharp gasp escapes him as another strike hits just at the right angle to sting sharply. 

Lance feels like the situation is slipping out of his control, a burgeoning horror setting in as he realizes--

“Sh-Shiro--” he tries desperately, but is cut off. 

“What number, Lance?” Shiro asks, hand falling to rest on the swell of Lance’s ass cheeks. It sends a jolt of something dangerous through Lance’s entire body.

“Five,” Lance answers, voice throaty as he tries to swallow around a hiccup of emotion. Even his ears are burning hot. He’s sure they’re stained a delicate pink, just like the rest of him. 

Six. _Seven._

Eight follows, hitting the same spot as the one before, fast, _hard,_ and Lance makes a noise that neither of them can pretend is one of pain. 

His eyes widen as the filthy moan reverberates through the room. The ensuing silence is deafening, blood pounding in his ears. 

This is it. Shiro is going to realize just how _fucked up_ Lance is-- dump him unceremoniously to the ground and declare his disgust. 

“The count, Lance?” Shiro asks instead and Lance is jolted out of his spiraling panic. 

“E-eight.”

The next strike hits the sensitive junction between ass and thigh and Lance jolts forward, his cock shifting against the tensed muscle of Shiro’s thigh.

He’s _hard_ from this, his dick fat and heavy, stuck in the confines of his suit. He’s sure Shiro notices, but he doesn’t let up, doesn’t say a _word_ , just brings his hand down. Lance can feel his ass jiggle from the impact, and he sucks in a broken breath.

“--Nine,” he breathes out, his mind going hazy as pain intermingles with pleasure.

Shiro’s hand comes down on the same spot, three times, in quick succession and Lance can’t help the noises that punch of out him, how his hips twitch with the desire to rut senselessly-- to chase the pain with distinct satisfaction. 

“Ten! Eleven! Twelve!”

“Good,” Shiro says, succinct, but the praise still burns Lance all over, dipping into his gut and curling there, pre-cum drooling out of his darkened cock. He can barely think on it before another strike hits his ass. He doesn’t even-- _can’t_ even-- stop the moan that tapers off into pitiful ‘ _thirteen’._

“Please, _please_ \--”

Shiro swats him again, the whole of his palm connecting with overly sensitive skin, and Lance cries out, hips jerking.

“Shiro,” he says, desperately, “ _harder._ ”

“What number, Lance?” he asks and Lance squeezes his eyes shut, more tears escaping from the corners, near delirious with _need._ “What number?”

“Four- _teen_!” and chokes when Shiro’s hand hits him so hard he jerks forward again, his cock, caught between himself and Shiro’s thigh, met with much-needed friction.

“Fifteen, _fifteen,_ ” Lance says, panting, not sure he can take much more of this but _wanting_ it so desperately. Sixteen lands impossibly close to his balls and his eyes roll up, fluttering as he grinds against Shiro’s lap.

“Sixteen. Please, Shiro, _please_ \--”

Shiro soothes a hand over his sensitive skin, down to his thighs, then up, just barely brushing against his balls. He removes the hand and brings it back down sharply.

Lance hiccups a sob, unable to think, rolling his hips and seeking out release.

“What number, Lance?” Shiro asks again and Lance shakes his head.

“I can’t-- I _can’t_ \--”

Shiro stops him from moving and Lance keens, rubbing his face against Shiro’s clothed thigh in frustration.

“Seventeen!”

Shiro lets him go and Lance fucks himself against him frantically, _screaming_ when eighteen strikes. His thighs are shaking badly, nails digging into where he’s holding on to Shiro.

“Eighteen,” his voice cracks. “Shiro--”

Another _thwap_ that lands _just_ so, and he barely gets any warning, his muscles tensing and his balls drawing up. His cock spurts over and over, completely unraveling him. He feels like it lasts forever, pulsing thickly in his under suit, mouth hanging open in a silent cry. 

It takes a while for his heart rate to come down, and even longer for his thoughts to come back to him. Shiro is rubbing his back gently, making soothing noises above him.

Lance swallows, pushing himself up awkwardly. He’s a sticky mess inside his suit and has left a wet spot on Shiro’s blacks. 

He doesn’t know what to say or where to look. Shiro is watching him closely, his eyes roving over his frame.

“Come here,” Shiro finally says and Lance looks up at him under dark lashes.

Lance obeys, crawling into his lap and straddling him, immediately burying his face in the juncture of Shiro's shoulder. Shiro’s arms come up around him, running a soothing hand over his back.

“You okay?” he asks and Lance nods into Shiro’s neck, hiding his face. “We probably should’ve stopped and talked about that before it happened.”

Lance nods again, arms tight around Shiro’s shoulders.

“Do you understand why I got angry?”

“You thought I was being reckless,” Lance answers, quiet despite himself.

“I thought we were going to lose you and I couldn’t take that,” Shiro says. “I’m sorry. You’re just as capable as a member of Voltron as any of us. I trust you. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I can’t promise that won’t happen,” Lance says, shifting back to look Shiro in the face. “I’ll do the best that I can. I get scared for you too.”

Shiro nods, gracing him with a smile.

“Except I don’t get to spank you when you do it,” Lance complains. His ass is going to hurt for _days._ The memory that accompanies that hurt-- well, that won’t be so bad.  
  
  
Shiro is silent for moment before he leans his head back, looking down his nose at Lance with a smirk on his face.  
  


“...I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” he says.   
  
  
Oh. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
